“There are natural highs, and lows, in winter. You eat more. You sleep more. It is only natural to put on a little fat, but I don’t like it. I want to go into winter, have its beauty and silence, and play by my rules., but it’s hard. And I’m so tired at the end of the day; as soon as it gets dark I’m bone-weary, almost in a stupor. It doesn’t matter whether I’ve been outside sawing logs or cross-country skiing all day, or just sitting inside by the window, typing and drinking tea – still I’m exhausted. I’m finally learning to savor it, just to stretch out by the fire and fall into slumber, into a sort of spinning, warm unconsciousness – all the chores done, or almost. I’m learning to understand and relish the sweet low of it, this necessary putting-off-until-tomorrow. The days are gradually, by minutes, getting longer, and soon I’ll be out of it, go full bore again, put on my city ways and do the work of three men – but these short, dark days are bigger than I am, larger than the chemical stirrings going on in the back of my brain, and I’ve learned that if I fight it, I’ll only be more tired the next day."